Unlikely friends
by Cheerful Black Rose
Summary: A fire occurs outside Israel's home and India goes over to help fix up her fire damaged front garden. India enjoys spending time at her house and encounters a few interesting people while over there.
1. Chapter 1

If you were to see her, without actually talking to her, you would think of her as just any other child. Well, perhaps not a child, being so tall, yet not a grown up.  
>Her hair is long, but always tied up.<br>Sometimes even in plats.

She's a plain girl, not particularly attractive. Nothing much to look at.

Her clothes mimic that of a tom boy teenager. Combat trousers, a baggy T-shirt, no Jewelry. Except for the necklace she wears around her neck.

Gold chain, with a star of David pendant.

Like I said earlier, If you see her, you'd think she is just like any other child. Young, innocent, sweet talking.  
>Its amazing how quickly that image of her can shatter.<p>

She has a rough way of speaking, perhaps you could call it unrefined, perhaps you could call it rude. Her face rarely shows emotion. Generally she just gives a stare, as if she's constantly unimpressed by the world around her.

A smart woman, even if her actions don't reflect that.  
>A woman of many talents you could say.<p>

She speaks several languages, plays several instruments, passed many degrees.  
>Has knowledge of many weapons.<p>

Isn't popular with her neighbors. Not so at all.

Her relationship with them isn't like my relationship with my neighbors. Not in the slightest. I tend to complain about how I have the worst neighbors, the most obnoxiousness, arrogant, insane, weird, people living around me.

Yet at least my neighbors don't Hate me.  
>Or at least not to the same extent as hers.<br>I hope.

It didn't matter to her that she was hated. She hated them back. Perhaps with an even greater level of hate.

Honestly, I can't remember a single world meeting where she hasn't been a major talking point, because she's done something or other to piss someone off

She likes starting fights, and likes winning even more.  
>She's stubborn,<br>she's brave,  
>she's intimidating.<p>

_She was scared._

She had woken up to the sound of a blash. A loud crash, followed by ringing in her ears.

That was all she could hear.

_C sharp._

She jumped out of her bed and ran to her window. As she pulled open her curtains, she gazed at the the thick black smoke traving past her veiw.

That was all she could see.

_A gas of Carbon and Sulfur._

She ran over to her mattress and pulled out the large hand gun which lay under it. She never went anywhere without a weapon. Slowly she opened her door to her hallway, gazing cautiously down it. She made quick movements towards her stairs, proceeding down them with cation.  
>Nothing appeared to be wrong so she made her way to her front door, placing a shaking hand on her lock to turn it.<br>It was quickly drawn back as the metal transferred it's heat to her skin. She took a step back to see black smoke seeping in through the cracks in her door.

"Fuck," she called out.

She ran into her kitchen to view what lay outside. Her front garden was on fire, her beautiful flowers and trees were set ablaze. There was noting she could do now to stop it.

She ran into her living room to lay claim to her home phone praying she could still use it. Grabbing it with one hand, still holding her gun in the other, she ran in her nightgown to the back door. Despite still being in bare feet, she managed to kick it open in one go.

She quickly assessed the situation she was in. He house didn't appear to be on fire itself. No one appeard to have broken in. Her garden was empty and she saw that she wasn't in any particular immediate threat. She swatted down to the floor and crawled to one of her garden walls.  
>Just in case there was someone or something in this garden she didn't want to encounter she stayed low.<p>

She could still use her home phone from her garden, so she decided to make the call. Despite the ringing in her ears making it impossible for her to hear anything.

Instead of calling the fire brigade, she called her friend. Her eldest friend, a friend she knew she could always rely on.

"I need help," she called out to whoever had picked up.

"My house, outside..." she paused, not quite knowing how to finish,  
>"It's on fire. Everything is on fire. Come quick. Bring help."<br>She then realized that sounding pitiful like this would make her a target so she added a "Now! That's an order" with a stern tone.

She held the phone up to her ear, hoping to hear the mans voice, yet all she could hear was the same annoying tone inside her head. Getting angry she threw the phone out across her garden. It seem to have smashed as it fell.

"Fuck!" She exclaimed, realizing that she had thrown with too much strength.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck." She repeated looking around her garden once more for danger. There was nothing. There was no one. It was dark and she was alone.

"Fuck," she said once more, this time not with an angry tone but with one of upset. She lent her back on the wall, bringing her knees to her chest, holding tightly her gun. She crossed her arms above her knees, resting her head on them.

She sat there for a while.

When her hearing finally returned to her,  
>she could hear the sound of herself crying.<p> 


	2. Chapter 2

His clothes were covered in paint.  
>Splashes of beige dotted across his plaid blue shirt.<br>He took off his shirt and assed the damage. It would have been better if he had chosen an old T-shirt for painting, or worn a vest. Although, this was one of his older, less cared for shirts. His jeans were pretty old, he usually wore them when he did a spot of DIY so he really didn't mind that they were dirty.

"Hey you know, if you start painting with your shirt off, you're going to get the neighbours curtains twitching." Remarked Israel as she stood opposite India with a spade in her left hand and her right arm bent over her shoulder.

"Haha, sorry, I'll put it back on," replied India slightly embarrassed.

"Hey, you don't have to do it for me. I don't mind," She remarked causally. "Besides, I still have to finish the garden which means concentrating on digging up these," Israel nudged her head in the direction of some fire damaged shrubs.  
>"Shame though," she muttered to herself as she turned around and knelt down to deal with her plants.<p>

India put his shirt back on and picked his paint brush back up. He assessed what else he would need to do, seeing as he was only painting over a little smoke damage. He turned to look at the young Israeli girl pulling out the shrubs which had once lined the walkway to her home. She had a determined look on her face, as if she was going to get her garden cleared or die trying. Of course that was always how she was.

She never laughed, or cried, or slacked off. She took everything seriously.  
>Even though she's well known for being a good comedian, she's still deadly serious about every joke she told, as if getting the punch line wrong once in a while, would be inexcusable offence.<p>

Perhaps that's what made her such a hard person to get along with. Or perhaps having so few friends and so many enemies can make a young person so serious. India didn't try to pin point which was correct and just accepted that she had many flaws amongst her many talents.  
>Despite being deep down such a fierce and head strong person, India couldn't help but see her as cute trying to pull up roots in her denim playsuit, over a T-shirt covered in stars and some sort of obscure logo.<p>

Even when she looked like she was trying to strangle the plants to de root them, the fact that she wore baby blue gardening gloves and cheap plastic earrings softened her image.  
>Her hair was pulled back by a white bandanna and then tied into two plats which rested over each of her shoulders. It was a typical pre teen of the 90s look that suited her nicely. Some may call it out dated although India just found it charming. A lot more charming that the endless parade of dark military green shirts and combat shorts she usually wore.<p>

India turned back to the house. The blackened walls. He sighed and got back to work. They weren't going to pain themselves.


	3. Chapter 3

India had stayed the night in the guest bedroom, so he could help Israel some more with the restoration of the house and garden. There was no need; she could have handled it easily herself.  
>He just insisted on helping her. She didn't relay grasp why but she liked the company anyway.<p>

India liked staying over at her house. She was a kind host. She'd wake up early in the morning and make them both breakfast. Which India had insisted wasn't necessary but the food was usually made before he could contest.

Yesterday when he was painting, on several occasions, she'd rush into the kitchen and bring him Ice cold lemonade. Just because she thought he looked thirsty. And she cooked him Lunch and dinner too, in an effort to kindly repay him for helping her.

When they were working, she brought out her radio so they could listen to music.  
>She sang along to the music sometimes too. It was amusing for India to hear her shout out the lyrics to some of the songs she knew. The first time he heard her shouting along to 'Kama Ahava' he thought she was angry at something he did and nearly dropped his paint brush.<br>It wasn't an odd thing to jump at since everyone who knew her, knew not to piss her off during one of her moods. Seeing as she wasn't a particularly emotionally visible person, it was hard to pin point just when she was in one.

India didn't spend much time lying in bed after he woke; he got dressed quickly and made his way down stairs.  
>It appeared this time he had woken up first, which gave him a chance to make breakfast for a change.<p>

He was quite excited about being able to make breakfast, since India was such a good cook.  
>When he got to the kitchen he saw out the window that he was not the first one up, that Israel had woken up before him but obviously too busy talking to someone to make breakfast. That meant that India had to be quick if he wanted to make Breakfast, he wasn't sure how long it would take her to talk to whoever it was she was talking to but he doubted it would be long.<p>

He raided her pantry for possible ingredients.

"Was up?" He heard a familiar voice call from the kitchen door. India turned around quickly lifting his head up and knocking it on the top of the pantry.

"Kesesese, oh gott! How funny you looked just then!" exclaimed Prussia falling into fits of laughter.

* * *

><p>Hey~ Thanks for reading this far ^^<p>

I hope you liked it :D I worte this story origionally as a side story for my other story on here called 'Wings of Decay' because there was no India on ff . net

but now there is- YAY!

oh and if anyone is interested i asked my friend on DA to draw me a request of the two together and he did and i love it and i thought id provide the URL if anyone is curious http : / nintendo336 . deviantart . com /gallery /# /d4qlub8 (A lot of spaces cause im paranoid)

.

.

.

I have another India fic in mind too :) Love for India! w00t! hehe.

Sorry if you disagree with the whole IndiaxIsreal pairing or the country itself- I honestly don't know how to feel about the whole conflict. gah! Can't think about that when i write this! Seriously no political agenda on either side- i swear!

I just like to write about Issy because she's an OC of mine i found fun in creating. I wanted to write a story on here called 'Bringing a girl home' which is basically a Meet the parents rip off where America starts dating Issy and decides to bring her hope to meet Britain, France and Canada xD Britian takes a huge dislike to her, Canada is scared of her and France... well France is just trying to cook dinner the whole time without being too caught up in tension to burn everything.

Anyho- As i was developing her character i found out about modern relationship between the two and i was thinking 'YAY OMG AN EXCUSE TO WRITE ABOUT INDIA!' hehe

so i got a review too but since they didn't sign in im just gonna thank you here... thank you ^^ I realy appreciated it!


End file.
